


Unrequited Love

by MagicaAria



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anger, BDSM Scene, Bodyswap, F/M, Heavy Angst, Love, Manipulation, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaAria/pseuds/MagicaAria
Summary: The WOL finds herself exhausted upon retiring to her quarter's, only to awaken in another body, another place. Where is she, and what is this horrible sense of nostalgia?





	Unrequited Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> After completing the last fan fiction, I...well, I had to do another. I'm obsessed with Emet-Selch/Hades right now, and my friends are painfully aware of it...lol. In lieu of this statement, however, thanks for coming by! As a forward, this work features a few violent/mid-core scenes involving some BDSM (wax) and manipulation, and to that effect, if you are sensitive to themes involving such, I'd recommend turning away. 
> 
> If you enjoy candles and some angry/agnst Emet, then welcome. ;) 
> 
> This work is set to take place before the final battle, but in a way, I think it could work either there, or after the first Lightwarden was slain in Lakeland. To each their own, I suppose. In addition to this, I've utilized glitch text to signify that Emilia cannot understand that which is in that font-style. I realize it may be a little confusing as you read through, since I do utilize Hades' name in some of the paragraphs, but I feel like at the end it's sort of summarized. If that doesn't come across, feel free to let me know so I can adjust a few of these instances. In addition, any suggestions, comments, or the latter is greatly appreciated...I'm currently in limbo trying to decide where to go from here...>__>
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Emilia stretched as she walked towards her bed. Her mind was sore, stretched, even, upon the resignation of their travels. Mundane work, preparations, more labor to bring the Talos to life, but it was magnificent in the end, wasn’t it? To see those people, those poor souls, light up, to see their hope, if only marginally, resorted. 

She gazed to her window as she slipped up the stairs, bare feet palming tepidly over the cool stone floor. In truth, she hadn’t grown used to the darkness that now welcomed the First, the Crystarium, these nights-it was odd, but nostalgic, familiar. She pondered the idea of the citizens, how happy they’d been with its homecoming, how they’d wept, cheered for the Warrior of Darkness’s blessing. The nights were brighter here, untainted from that of the expansive cities and populations of the Source, but she could grow used to it. The stars, after all, were immensely beautiful.

Her bed greeted her approaching shins, halting her before she could fall forward onto its soft sheets and inviting plush. Tenderly, as she was still sore from the day’s journey, she knelt down and curled her body upon the mattress, swinging her legs over with her. She stretched again, groaning as her bones cracked and muscles pulled, her tail shifting to curl cozily beneath her. As she lay spread atop the blankets, she closed her eyes and began to relax, to pause her mind and mull over plans for the following days.

.

A soft light began to mingle behind her eyes, glittering and warm. Her head stung, hands propelling her towards it, to feel it; she didn’t know why, but something in her welcomed that feeling like a friend, a lover.

She worked her lids, squeezing, blinking. Desperation was replacing her patience, she wanted to feel what it was near her. Needed to.

She wiped at them, blearily trying to focus upon the heat she’d felt on her skin. It felt cooler now, like a stationary thing, mixed with cold air or draft; a window?

A sound built in her throat as she tried to concentrate on her vision, on what it could be, since her eyes had yet to adjust. Vanilla, the sound of a cool breeze whistling through a metallic substance, ringing, wood and indigo, ink? She delved deeper, touching into the aether that skirted near the surface of her skin; old text and stone, lanterns imbued with likewise magicks, another’s then, not hers.

She blinked, and suddenly her sight was overwhelmed with color, landscape. A soft cry of surprise flitting past her lips as she continued to flash her lids, now to adjust rather than to focus.

A dark, stone desk of intricate craftsmanship stood before her, housing text and scrolls between towers of assorted, lit candles. She waved a hand over them, pleased by their gentle, soft warmth. Ink sat, with open parchment and matching well, to the left of an opened script, though the language and figures drawn across it was lost to her. She leaned closer, trying to examine the drawings, but retracted upon the sound of a hard creak.

As she had bent forward, she looked down, suddenly aware that her body was seated, cross-legged, in a plush armchair though the material was, like the text, lost. It struck a chord, however; the candles, the writing, this was familiar, nostalgic.

Unease now intermingled with her curiosity. She was in a different space, a different room, obviously-how could anything here have felt like it…_belonged _to her, if she’d yet to have seen it before?

Emilia leaned back, the same resounding strain of metal and wood singing as she did so. With a turn, she took note of the rest of the room, surprised by how large everything appeared in contrast to where she’d been prior. Expansive bookshelves, stone and wide, stretched across the length of the nearest wall. Ancient tomes, most of which she seemed unable to decipher or recognize, held places within every crevasse, spilling into likewise stacks along the glittering, marbled floor.

Before her, an ornate, metallic window opened unto a view of an expansive sky, again, dark. Brilliant, glimmering stars shone within its canvas, scattering and peppering the horizon as it faded from hues of purple to that of blue and gold. Perhaps she had walked during her sleep, then, the sky looked similar enough. She’d never done it before, but it could be possible that in her exhaustion, she’d woke in another room amongst that of the Pendants?

With a shake of her head, she turned again, this time facing the larger quarter of the chamber. A large canopied bed with silken, burgundy sheets and black blankets sat tall, wide, against the wall adjacent to the books. It had curtains as well, but each had been tied along the tall metal beams protruding from each corner. Another turn, and she could see what remained; another window, a furred rug, more books, a telescope, candles upon candles, lit, flickering in pairs along the ground and shelved walls.

“I-Is anyone here?” She whispered, glancing around for a sign of movement, disturbance.

When no answer came, she scowled, taking stock of the room one last time. Surely she hadn’t missed it, but from the looks of it, she was right; there was no door.

She pushed against the chair, now standing with bare feet upon the floor she’d marveled prior, It was cooler than that of her stone, but…it felt like it was supposed to be, like it was something she had done, something to help comfort her, like the candles. As she’d moved, long robes materialized and draped down over her arms, continuing down the expanse of her legs and pooling at her feet. She reached to caress them, at how soft they’d felt under her fingers, when curls of hair fell over her shoulder. ‘Twas the same color as her own, of that she was sure, but it was longer, the white tips extending well past the breast it normally rested upon.

"̸̡̛̛̰͖̠̠̗̖͖͚͉̬͎̺̭̝̥̜̞̏͂̊̇̒̋̌̌͌͑̚̕͘P̸̡̨̟͕̼̭̬͓̜̥̼͚̙̟̬̲̯̬͋͠e̴̥̦̟͈̲̳̱̳̜̼̬̔r̷͖̖̽͐s̵͖̰̯͇̃̆̒̇̐e̶̛̥̫͍̗̩̥̣͇̯̣̻͎͖̭͎̫͈̱̐̇̇̽̒̈́̒͛̀͋̋͑̓p̷̢̡̧̧͎̹͈͎̞̩̠͔̭͚͎͈̓͗̉̀͋͘͝h̸̨̡̧̲̥͈̘̝̃̌̉͂͗̄͒̓́̌̄̐͋͛̀̚͜o̷͓̗̙̱̭̜̘̫̯̕ñ̶̢̡͚̜̥͉̞͆̄́̏̉̔ē̷͉̟͇̬͚̽͋̾̈̃̆͐̈͌̈́̑̈͠!̴̨̛̖̬͎̙̠̲̱̦̳͖̓̐̀̄͑̈́̎͆̓̅̃́̐̚͝"̵̢͇̖̙̖̟̞̺͋̍́̏̓̏̽

A pang of hot, intense anger suddenly stabbed through Emilia’s chest, almost doubling her back into the chair she’d risen from. She clutched at her collar, her breath snagging on the force now pushing against her aether, her soul. Whatever that was that spoke, it had pierced her, like a frozen blade.

"̷̢̬̲̮͚̮̹̤̘̹̤͈̼̺̃́̐̀͒̌̓̃̓̆͒͜͝P̴̛̠̙̗̠̹̪̬̙̝̫̠̬̤̝̂̇̓̃̋̐ẹ̷͖͕̙̗͉͓̠̪͖̯̘͆̿̋̽͌͒͂̚͜r̶͍̻̓̍̓̇̿̊̒̐̿͆̕s̷͉͓̑̉́̓͐̃̔̍͌̑̍͘̚͘͝è̷̢̛͖̜̤̭̥͇̞̦̏́̈́̾͛p̷̼͔͕̘͖͍̤̠͓̥͚͍̈́̐̈̌̿̚̕̕h̴̰̳̤̣̩͐̆͋̀͌̾͐̾͒̄͆͝͝o̵̡̧̲̤̼̣͙̬̣̟̻̭̙͗̈́̽̔͌̅̄͋̈͝͝͠͝͝ͅn̸̼̳̹̜͙͎͕̳̝͐̂͐̓̊̓͘ẻ̸̢̨̩͔̬̮̳̣̝̝͓͈̮̍͝,̷͔̩̙͆̿̂́̅̈́̆̈́͝ ̷̧̨̳͈̠͓͓̲̮̯̙̼̈̈̋͋̀̍̄̅̕͝͝i̴̫͕̬̱͌͊͋̈̆͆f̵̡̡̪̥̝͎̏̉̏͝ ̴͓͂͋̓͂̚ý̵̦õ̴̠̟̱ú̴̖͔͇̼̈̈́ ̷̣͈̼̞̣̎d̷̠̩͎̮̤̬̕o̶̙͆̑̄͜͝ ̸̪͈̪̏̇̔̃͘ñ̷̮͖͎̥͓̬̿̾̓͝ò̶̲t̷̡̝̣͎͈̀͌̌̊͜͝͠ ̸͍̜̮̠̮̯̅̿̌̀̌a̶̧̤͎̳͙͌̿͂͘͜n̴̨̧͆̇͘ṣ̵͇͖̪̲͆̋̔́w̷̱̳͂ȅ̶͖̠̆͊̀͜ȑ̶̪͊͛͆̕m̷͕̏e̴͙͌ ̷̪̓t̷̼̉h̷̹̆i̴̲̚s̸̛̼ ̵̢̓ì̷ͅn̸̦͛s̵̫̆t̷̙̓a̴̻̅n̶̪͗t̸̻͌,̵̺̀ ̴̣̓I̷'̸m̸ ̶coming̸ ̴in̴.̶"̶

Another wave of pain, this time impatient, hot. The miqo’te couldn’t breathe, her heart felt like it was boiling, melting.

After a moment of tense silence, a mixture of dark, purple aether suddenly apparated across from her, ripping into the silence with crackling, irate energy. She gasped, backing into the desk with a hard crash. She reached back to balance herself, but seethed as it met with spilled wax. It burned, but the pain couldn’t compare to that of the snag now twisting within her chest.

As the portal began to focus, a tall, hooded man came storming through it, a chiseled red mask stationed upon the upper portion of his face_. _The blood seemed to leave her body, frozen._ An Ascian?!_

“I see you still _don’t listen_,” He snapped, crossing the room in a mere instant. As she breathed, he apparated in front of her, towering against her body with frightening height and aura. The candles, previously lit amongst the expanse of the floor, now withered and died with tendrils of smoke giving call to their extinct wicks. As she watched, the man leaned in and pressed his gloved hands behind her, trapping her body between the desk and his chest.

Emilia wanted to sob, her throat and chest felt as if they were impaled, broken-how was she to defend herself against an Ascian when she was defenseless, weaponless?

The man’s face inclined over her shoulder, to the script on the desk. A few strands of white hair fell from under the hood, thin wisps of bangs now cascading over the crimson, and equally white swirl, of the mask. He scoffed and glanced back to her, “How long have you been working here?”

She opened her mouth to respond, and a voice, not of her own, spoke. It was light, warming, “You know how long I’ve been here, H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌, I told you I had work to finish for the Convocation.”

A metallic sneer twisted the man’s lips, his voice coming in a low, dark rumble. It burned, “That was days ago. How long have you been bidding for Lahabrea? I know he’s the one who had you take this assignment.”

Her voice sighed, “’Tis this why you’ve come, to harp upon me your petty dislike of your comrade? I’ve work to do as well; I can’t simply ignore it because you have a _distaste _for someone.”

Emilia could feel the tension in her chest begin to recede, though the fear was still taking precedence. Obviously, this man seemed to be in touch with the void, his magicks, but since awakening here, the miqo’te felt weaker, almost powerless. If this were to come to an altercation, she’d be left at a severe disadvantage.

“You know why I dislike him,” He stated. She looked up, shocked to find pairs of luminescent, gold eyes staring back at her. They…they looked like…

“And you know why I do as well,” Emilia’s hands, though she wasn’t sure if they were really hers anymore, reached up to the man’s hood, pulling it back to reveal waves of familiar, though short, white hair. She could feel her eyes widen, the blood in her body running cold.

Her heart was suddenly shattering again, pulsing much too fast and reeling against her realization.

Emet-Selch.

It was _Emet-Selch_, in front of her, _speaking _to her.

He allowed this, but pressed into her further, the edge of the desk now pinching against the hollow of Emilia’s lower back. She wanted to yell at him, to demand an explanation; if this wasn’t her body, who’s was it? Why could she feel everything, but lack the ability to speak, now that he had come? Why was it familiar, why in the _hell _did everything hurt _so badly._

“With as much time as you’ve spent with him, my love, sometimes I question your sentiment.” His face lowered to that of the miqo’te’s shoulder, his nose resting within the crook of her neck and hair.

She felt a chuckle rise in her chest, the anger from before burning slightly hotter, pushing, now. Had he called her his ‘love?’ “And you question it unjustly, H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌.”

One of his hands slipped from the desk and up to her face, pulling away a hood she’d neglected to notice she was wearing. With a flick of his wrist, he tore away a mask that had been resting upon her own face, as well, throwing it carelessly upon the marble floor. She looked after it, shocked to see that the color was also crimson, a swirl across the top to match that of his own, “I see the way he _looks at you_,” His voice was lower, darker than Emilia had remembered it being, but perhaps that was the proximity. “His aether alone gives way to what he’d have of you.”

The miqo’te could feel her skin tickle at the wave of his breath, his mouth now moving to brush along her throat and collarbone. “You speak out of jealousy, my love, you know I would never indulge him.”

He hummed, his teeth grazing over the flesh that met against her shoulder. “Say it once more.”

Emilia felt tears in her eyes, the pain was becoming unbearable, hot. Every movement he made, every exchange between them, felt like it was ripping into her aether, carving it, pulling it. This woman wasn’t her, but like the desk and script, she undoubtedly felt it was. Their words, this moment, it was igniting a sense of unbearable nostalgia, so strong she wasn’t even sure it was truly what she was feeling anymore. 

His lips sealed down on her skin, sucking hard at the flesh. Her chest seared at the rumble of his voice, as if it were the one holding sway over her pain. _“Say it again.”_

A soft cry spilled from her lips, “I-I don’t know what you wish for me to repeat, H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌.”

“Who do you _belong _to?” He rasped, releasing her skin from his mouth.

“Now you speak as though I am _supposed_ to indulge _you,_” The woman chuckled breathlessly, but Emilia sensed that anger pulse, as if his patience was a tether, snapping against her chest. “I am not a _thing _to be possessed, I belong to no one.”

Hades rose from her shoulder and looked down at her, the aura emanating from him practically buckling her knees. His eyes were molten, bearing into her with malice and unwavering ire. The hand that had previously cast aside her visage now rose to his own, pulling away his mask with slow, measured control. He didn’t throw it to the ground, but it evaporated, much like that of the portal he had appeared within.  
  
“I’ve always been fond of your boldness, P̷̰̰̐̿͠é̴̡̐ŕ̸͓͉̻s̵̫͒͑̉e̸̼͙̫̐p̷̹̻̬͂̓ḩ̸͚̔̕o̷͙̊̔͠n̸̥̹͑̊͜e̶̠̔,” The corners of his mouth pulled from a scowl into a malevolent smirk, one she’d grown accustomed to Emet-Selch wearing when he’d bested her, or the Scions. It sent shivers down her spine, “But I am in no mood for games.”

“’Tis not a game,” The woman, Emilia, crossed her arms indignantly, eyeing him with her own bravado of anger and impatience. “I am not a possession, a material, item. You cannot own me no more than you can own the wind, nor the sea.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and wicked, “No more than the sea, you say?”

“You heard me, H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌.” 

He brought his hand back to her sides, pressing against her with his torso. A small sound escaped her lips, “You speak my name, but you seem to have forgotten who I am.” His face leaned in to her own, dangerously close to her lips. “Perhaps your work with the _Speaker _has dulled your memory, my love, _shall I remind you_?” 

Emilia watched as his eyes danced over the woman’s face. She’d never seen him this close, despite the differences in aesthetic. He was, in all manner of the word, handsome; chiseled jaw, cheeks, sculpted lips and brilliantly colored eyes. Those same dark circles treaded over each of them, but the brightness outweighed the definition-did he know that she was here, seeing him? “I know well who you are, I know you better than any.”

His lips brushed against her mouth and Emilia felt that pang suddenly reignite; hot, intense, irritated. “Then you know not to try my patience any longer, lest you wish for me to have you on this desk.”

The woman suddenly laughed, cool, “You wouldn’t _dare_.” 

Hades smirk twisted as he removed his hand from behind her, holding it up for her to see. Her eyes widened as it folded, forming that of a preparatory snap. The miqo’te’s stomach clenched, “Oh, you _know_ I would.” 

“Hades, do not.” The cross in her arms began to slip. 

_“Say it.” _

“I will _not_, you indignant man!”

“Last chance,” The muscles in his hand flexed, his eyes wild with amusement and something that crossed her as a deep, warm hunger. It made her shiver, “Unless you don’t mind giving these plans to Lahabrea after I’ve had you atop them. You know I care not for dignity.”

“You care for your own, well enough,” She hissed, reaching to take hold of his hand. She made for his wrist, but he was taller, holding it just out of her reach. As she moved, the wax, previously dried upon her knuckles and fingers, cracked and fell. A pause came, their eyes momentarily leaving to watch the broken shards fall to the ground, splaying between them on the stone.

He chuckled and grabbed her, using his supporting arm to take her around her waist. She, and Emilia, gasped, but he clenched his hand into her robes, pulling her hips against him. He leaned forward and brushed his teeth near her ear, “You’ve given me a horribly wonderful idea, my love.”

The miqo’te’s heart began to pound, anticipation and curiosity mingling with what, she’d assumed, was also that of the woman’s she inhabited. “A-and what is that?”

He snapped.

In an instant, she’d been standing, the next, she was tethered across her own desk, weights of swirling aether clasped around her ankles, throat, and wrists. She, too, must have mimicked that of the miqo’te’s height, considering her head, torso, and waist could fit fully across the desktop. Emilia, and the woman, hissed and immediately tried to sit up, choking against the bind now laced around her neck. “H-ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌, release me, you f-fool.”

His laugh was cold, but the sound, oddly, warmed her stomach. “Why? You challenged me, _dearest,_ I’m simply living up to your expectations.” With a smirk, he leaned down, resting his hands along each side of her head.

“Y-you’ll ruin my work like this,” Emilia watched as his hair spilled around his face; his eyes bearing into her, molten, gold. “I’ll not be the one to explain to the C-Convocation why their stratagem for A-Akademia approval must needs be done over,” She huffed, air strangled by the restraints, “H-Have you no idea how long it took me to write up this proposal?”

Hades lowered his mouth to her jaw, his voice humming along her skin, “Unfortunate, but it ’twas not your job to write these, and you know it.”

The woman pulled again, but this time a sharp crack of aether resounded throughout the room. She, and Emilia, both gasped, choking against the desk as she writhed below him. “L-let me go!”

“The more you move, the more apt you are to ruin your _precious work_,” He laughed, running his tongue along the soft skin near her neck. The woman, and Emilia, began to shake beneath his hovering chest, her heart pounding loudly beneath her robes. Twinges of pain continued into her arms, burning against her skin with cold, icy discomfort. “Stay still for me, my beloved.”

His mouth continued to work down her throat, pausing at the dip near her Adam’s apple and the binding. He hummed appreciatively, sliding his lips to her collar, the cusp of her hood; he placed careful kisses there, gentle, warm. Emilia felt her, and the other, melting into his touch-it was crushing, heated, as if he was placing bits of his own aether, his own soul, into her skin with every meeting, every breath. Never, not on the First, nor that of the Source, had she experienced something that felt as beautifully intimate as this; and it was breaking her heart. “H-H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌, I-”

She winced as he snapped near her ear, a chuckle of amusement suddenly resounding against her skin. As she looked to him, she suddenly took in the gravity of what he’d done. She, and the miqo’te, laid bare to him, the length of her body now exposed to that of the materials both above and beneath her. The miqo’te was precipitously mortified, her thoughts running at the same fears she’d always kept at the exposure of her skin; scars, burns, mutilations-…could…could he see them? 

A soft mewl escaped her throat as the air from the window blew into the room. Her skin shook as it brushed against her flesh, a dichotomy to that of the remaining candles encasing her. “Stay still,” He whispered, raising his head from her neck.

She watched, embarrassed at the ways in which his eyes now roamed over her; they’d be possessive, if she looked closely enough, but there was something else, darker, menacing. What did she look like, laying before him? Did…he truly not see her, the Warrior, his enemy? “W-what are you doing?”

“I’m testing your will,” He raised his hand and snapped again, a collection of candles emerging from purple and black rifts. Each, tall, crimson, hovered precariously above that of her body, each slanted, ever so slightly, to their adjacent twin. He tilted his head, small wells of flame erupting from the wicks of all, “In a manner of speaking.” 

Emilia opened her mouth, a question formed on her lips, when a drip of hot wax suddenly landed on her thigh. She yelped and made to sit up, jerking hard against the tethers binding her to the desk. Rippling, ice-like spears tore against her flesh as the same crackling answered, a sharp contrast to the blistering welp she felt forming on her leg.

Emet-Selch watched as she began to cough, her chest puffing from the sudden loss of air. It was painful, but the heat, as instantaneous as it had been, began to fade. Bearable, now, but the residing film felt uncomfortable, intrusive.

Another drop, this time beneath that of her right breast, spilled, staining. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as it began to drip, her voice resounding in a strained, weak cry of both pain, and something mingled with pleasure. “H-H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌,” She, and Emilia, hadn’t realized the woman had been holding her breath until she began to speak. Her voice, lilt and articulate before, now fell to a rasping, breathless alto, “S-Stop this.”

The man’s eyes inspected the newest blemish across her flesh, reveling in the contrast of red wax against pale, ivory skin. He was pleased with the color, red suited her. “As soon as you are ready to admit to whom _you belong_, I’d be more than happy to release you.” His lips curled dangerously as he lowered to her side, his hands tracing circles over the hardened wax on her rib. “I know how much this…_pains_ you.”

“I-Is that what this is ab-Ah!” Another drop of wax fell, splattering down the curve of her belly and pooling in the dip of her bellybutton. Emilia felt both herself, and the woman, shaking with hurt, her heart throbbing erratically within her chest. The man, Emet-Selch, followed his ministrations down to her hip, placing a soft kiss just at the height of the bone. Her skin erupted with gooseflesh, the cool touch of his mouth nulling the blistering ache, mingling to form something Emilia felt…desirous.

Another drop, and another, one on her shoulder and one likewise, just at the curve in her wrist. The tears now spilled down her cheeks, fading into her hair as the pain began to resurface-it was as if the wax was getting hotter, though both of them know that was feasibly impossible.

His mouth left her skin, moving instead to that of her face. Her tears, though he’d known he’d been the cause, elicited a dark, horrible need in him-they were beautiful, coveting. “Say it, my love." 

She looked up to him, eyes wet and verging on pleading, “I-I will _not.”_

Three more fell; one on her throat, another on her knee, and the last on her sternum. The wax felt akin to spears now, surely leaving behind burns as they trailed along her curves, her flesh. Hades brought his mouth back to her face, swiping his tongue along the trails of moisture near her temple. Each of his hands slid along her, one resting beneath the curve in her neck, the other tracing circles along her chest, her ribs. As she panted, he wove his fingers into her hair, tugging to allow her to bend against him, against the aether staying her. “_Say it.”_

Emilia could feel the woman clenching her teeth, pride being the forbearer to keep her, and she, from quite literally, screaming in submission. More drops fell, but she blocked them out, swallowing the sob she felt building in the back of her throat. The miqo’te was lost, enamored by the painfully twisted and yet beautifully amorous ways in which this man seemed to command her, bend her. Even if it had been her body-though it certainly felt like it was-tied and aching, she didn’t know if she could do anything to respond; she felt overstimulated, muddled.

Did she conjure this of her own desires, having been alone, destitute, for so long; or was this an intrusion, on a memory she’d somehow stumbled into, forced herself upon? Did…Did this mean she, like this woman, felt…something for him? “H-H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌,” She yelped as his hand suddenly caressed over her breast, stalling just at the crown, pinching, twisting. “I…I belong to you, H-H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌-”

“Say it again.” He groaned, tightening his hold on her neck. 

Their eyes met as he moved, lowering to the edge of her mouth, her lips. She moaned as he jerked her hair, their combined breath coming in ragged, helpless gasps. Emilia felt like she was spiraling, drowning-all she wanted was his eyes, that gold, their heat. Damn the morality, _“Again.”_

The miqo’te, and she, choked a sob, the warmth of his breath strangling them beneath the aetheric bonds. Her vision was blurring, but she could feel her lips quivering, moving, “I-I belong to you, H-H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌!”

_“To **me**,”_ He turned her, his mouth moving to consume theirs in a muffled, strangling kiss. Her heart snapped, the bond she’d felt tethering the two of them together flaring unto an unbearably agonizing desire. All she wanted, more than anything, more than air or drink, than Light, than death, was him-every ilm, every muscle, breath.

Both women sighed as he worked his lips, his tongue, swiping and biting over her flesh hungrily, mercilessly. He bent her head, snapping to release the bonds tethering her to the desk, in turn cleaning the wax from her skin.

Blood pounded in her limbs as she moved, engulfing his shoulders with her arms, lacing her hands into his soft, silken white hair. It was unthinkably divine, the scent mixed with something akin to brandy, to spices, to velvet and warm, sweet vanilla. She stroked over his head, her fingers grating across the shortened, buzzed strands sticking from the nape of his neck. He hummed into her mouth, his own hands moving to grasp her hips, her waist.

“Shall we move this to the bed, love?” He rasped, eyes meeting hers with sparkling, golden ardor.

The woman chuckled, using her purchase behind his head to allow her to pull herself free from the desk. Her hair fell back from her shoulders, curls now twisting wildly behind her, as wistful and elegant as Emilia could imagine her eyes. He watched, following as she began to press into him, pushing him to the chair that had rested forgotten behind. Hades smirked as he took it, leaning back to allow her to find purchase over him.

Emilia and she climbed eagerly, her thighs resting along each side of his hips. The material beneath them creaked in protest, but something told her it would hold-if not from structure, then by magicks. Gently, her hands rose from the cloth of his robe to that of his shoulders, his neck. “Eager, are we?” 

“’Tis _your_ fault,” She whispered, leaning into him. Her lips lowered to his throat, brushing, lilting, relishing in the taste of his skin. “You distracted me from my work.”

Hades brought his hands to her thighs, each of his fingers pulling, kneading at the soft flesh left exposed from his onslaught, “’Twas not your work to do in the first place; I simply came to ensure Lahabrea had not found his way to your home.”

Her teeth nipped at his neck, moving to the soft, tender flesh thrumming near his ears. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“He would,” He retorted, leaning back to allow her acquisition. “In all honesty, I’d prepared to murder him when I arrived.”

Emilia felt hers, and the woman’s, chest suddenly throb with nostalgia-the anger, vehement, boiling, that’d overcome her, it was his? “The Convocation would hunt you down.”

“I’d have their blood as well,” He rasped, swallowing in time with her breath.

She kissed his lobe, licking at the clasp of his pearled earring, “’Tis unwise to say such things aloud, love.”

“Ah,” The man laughed darkly, relishing in the way her supple skin bent against the length of his hands. “’Tis unwise if I’d been saying it without conviction.”

The pair leaned away, looking to his eyes. They met, even, cold, “H̵̫̤͎͛̾͂ä̵̢̗̔͝d̴̦̣͆ę̴̬͕̍̎͘s̷̜̓͑͌, you cannot be serious?”

The familiar, malevolent smirk turned at his lips, coloring his aura in dark, opaque shadows. She was suddenly afraid, “I made you a promise, dearest. _You are mine, **always**_**.”** His hands began to slide, scraping against her hips, her back.

Her blood was crawling, shaking; Emet-Selch.

“What?”

She looked back, his face suddenly ashen and wide, calculating. The woman was gone, unraveled, broken-Emilia could feel it, everything, her skin, her hands, it was her own, touching him, holding him. “What did you just say?”

“Emet-Selch.”

.

.

.

.

“How **DARE **you!”

Her body was suddenly thrust against the wall, the air knocked clean from her lungs. Vaguely, she could feel a part of her mind tear, like the flesh that’d been impacted by the cold stone now grinding into her skull. Surely blood had begun to spill, but she couldn’t register it-where was she?

Blearily, the miqo’te flickered her eyes, trying, in vain, to separate herself from the realm which had anchored her not a moment prior. “How did you do it, you insufferable creature? **Answer** me!” 

Emilia coughed, turning her eyes to find the Ascian, returned now to that of the one she’d remembered, towering above her. His gloved hands, shaking with what she could only assume was rage, sat clenched around her skull and neck, pressing her into the wall with vindictive force. Panic came again, “I-I don’t u-understand-“ 

“Oh, _shut it,_ you know very well what you’ve _done_,” He spat, digging his nails into her hair. She whimpered, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. He was going to kill her, “Explain yourself, **now.”**

“I-I,” Emilia wheezed, her vision threatening to collapse. Her aether wasn’t responding-had he done something to it? “I c-ca can’t- I-“

“_Tch,”_ The pressure suddenly left her throat, stinging, agonizing gasps doubling her over. Hisses of wet, violent coughs came as she tried to breath, her lungs searing at the sudden intake of oxygen, “Now explain, why were you there?” 

“W-what are…you t-talking about?”

Emet-Selch released a measured, articulate breath. When she looked back to him, he’d moved back over her, glaring into that of her own, mismatched eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive right now, you pathetic excuse for a _hero.” _His gloved hand came back to her chin, turning her such that he could analyze her, “I’ll say it once more, why were you in my head?”

Emilia winced, thinking back to how she’d come into that room, that…woman, what was her name? “I-I don’t know, I just woke up there.”

He chuckled, bearing his thumb into her skin. “Don’t lie to me, have you forgotten who I am?”

Something began to tear at her mind, scratching, blitzing – her body was shaking, convulsing in time with the shattering, ringing bells.

H̸̡̹̰̖͈̟̞͓̝͆̌̌̈́̔̋͝͝a̷̡̧̡͇̝̰̣̱̰̮̙͒̎̾̍̇̂͐͒̽͋́͘d̴̨̧̢͚̞͇̮̋͂́̓̎́̽̔͐̾͘͠͝e̷͔̅͛͐s̴̡̳̼̖̺͚̤͆̿̈͆͊̍͋͊̎͋̀̓̋

Ḣ̸̨̛̟̣̟̥̦͈̤͇̤̗̪͓̮͔̜̘̈̽̿͗̈́̍̾̀̂̎͛̉̄͂̔̈̄͆͘͝ͅa̷͚̯̱̳̫̥̫̪͕̗͔̻͚̬͔̦̮̠̻̱̠̗͉̞̖̝̪̱͙̟̥̜̺͙̻͚͂̀̈́̆̓d̷̢̢̢̨̨̳͓̪̭̪̣̜̮̖̬̲̖̝̯͂͐͋̈́̉͆̈́̓̋͗́̾̆̍̉̕̕͘͝͠ê̷̥͍͉̖̯͚̫̹̫̬̠̳̳͔̱͎͔̣̺̫̣̖̱̦̱̝͚̟̦͔͎̳̓̾͊͜͜͜ͅͅs̶̨̢̨̨̢̥̟̫̗͕͉̣͕̲̖͍̺̟̠̞̱͓̪̽̃͊͗͂͘̕͝

H̸̡͇̝̜̯̖͖̲̟͕͇̙̰̞͕̀͑͒̋̅̃̉̓́͗̏̍̑̓̂̀̀͌͊̂͌̄͐̑̔͛̔̏̔͊̃̑́͛̈́̏̾̓͘̚͝͝͝ͅͅa̵̻̓̃̀́̏̾̉͋̊̊̍̊̽́̈́̅̽͂̽̄̐́̈́̍͑̑̋̔̓̎̐͊̿̑̽͆͒͌̃͌͊͒̿̏͘̕͘͘͠͠d̸̨̨̢̨̧̛̛͚͕͓̗̩͔̪̥̜͙̘͕̘͎͇͎̤̘͙̲͔͇̲̼͎͕̼͚̥̗̻̠͔̘͔̣̘̪͓̽̾͊̈̋͂̈̌͋́͐̍̆̐͋͋̂͑̐̎́̀͆̀͌̾̐̈͑̀͌̽̈́̍̈́̍̌̍͐͆͋̌͑̾̑̓̈́̀̎͂̄͐̓̃͌͑̈͊̊̀̌͂͊́̊͘̕͘͘͘̕̕͘͜͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅe̴̢̧̛͚̗̩̙̣͖̭͓̩̺̱̠͕̗̞̰͈͚̻̦̻̣̺͖͙͚̜͔̞̣͓̖̟͕̱̿́̅̑̈́̀͆̉̓̃̓̔̾̏͊́̋͑͐̆͂̄͌͑̽̾̒͗̍̎͊̔͋̎̊̓̃̈́̒͋̈́̃͂̒̇̈̃̈́͂͛͊͌̌́͋͆̈̒̿̀̉̋͗̾͗̚̚̕̕̚͘̚̚̕͝͝͠͝ŝ̷̨̢̢̡̡̛̛̫̮̦͍͓̱̻͖̬̳͇͕͈͍̫̤̠̦̩͇̗͔͕̰̼̲͈̮̜̭̭̫̼̅͊̈͑̄̅̾́͊̈́̌͂̉̇͆͒̿̐̾͋͆͑̉̋̀̓̀̈́̎͛͊̓̓̏͆̓̾̄̀̈́͆̂̅́͗̉͋͂̾̔͌̈́̃͛̉̽̍̀̄̇̅̂̚̚͘͜͜͠͠͝͝ͅ

H̷̨̥͎̯͔͈̹͎̘̘̙̙̹̻̟͉̝̱̫̰̻̜̝̮̣͚̺̉͐̈͂̓̀͆̆̋̈́̆̓̇͆̒̈́̇̈́̆̓͂͋̾̋̚ͅǎ̸̧̡̧̢̢̨̛̛̲̥̣̖̘̜͇̘̥̮̞̹̣̜̠̣̟͚͚͉̖͔̅͗̆̿͐̐́̌̍̑̃̿͌̆̈́̀͑̀̒̓͘͘̕͠ͅd̵̨̛̤͙̹̟̉̑̿̀͊͗̾͑̌͐̐̉̄̓͋̈́̈́͌̕e̴̢̧̛̥͍̦̠̦̬̦̣̲̝̰̬̦̖̣͓͇̺̘̱̼͈̗̲̮̒̎̑̓͋̋̇͑̾̒̋͂̍̃̎͂͂̾̇̓̽́͊̊̚͝͝ş̶̗͍̭̱͇̯̻̗̳͖̓̔͜ 

Ḧ̶̢̧̡̡̧̡̛̩͈͚̗͓̻̝̬̩̟̻̘̱͎̫͇͈͕͚̠̯̺̺̙̹̖̼̬̲̹̣̲̝͔̥̣̳͈̝̪͚̦̣͓͙́͂̃̄̎̅̓͗́̾̐̔̂͊̆͂̅̓̉̇͂͗̎̃̈͛̄̑̈̆͒̊̄̋̅͊̈̌̍̚̚͜͜͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅa̵̧̨̛̛͍̰̜̺͈͍̗̦̣̜̲͉͌͐̓ḑ̷̧̧̨̨̡̢̧̨̧̛̞̼̤̱̗͍̞̜̜̰͔͓̰͔̱̟̣̝̣̮̪͉̙͈̭̜̹͕͕̲͉̰̻͎̙̜̙͓͔̲̳̩͎͉͈̜̦͇̣̗̮͍͚͈͎̮̱̖̪̬͖̟̠͚͇͖͍̬͈̟̖̘͉̫̦̠̀̂̈́͛̾͆̌͋͆͂̓͗̐̆͐̓͒̐͒̀͋́͑̓͒̇̏̃̄͊̎̒̊̈́̃͊̉͘͘̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅͅͅę̷̛͈͙͕̖̠̱͇̹̗͔̻̪̮̟̜̼͖̗̺̫͇̬͈̲̘͙̤̦͚̯͎̥̥͔̝̝̻̮̙̜͗͐̿̈́̓̐͒͊̋͗͋͊̔̊̅̈́́̽͒̓̈́͊͋̍̉́͐̑̅̑̀͊̓́̅̓͑̽͋̈̚̚̚̕͜͜͜͠͠͝͠ś̴̩̺̬̜̜͕̅̌͋̈́̿͂̏͐̈̑̐͆̒͐͂̈́͐̓̓̑̈́͛̔̋̐̈́͋̆̾̄̀͊͊̆̋̎̒̋̐̆̈́̀̿̃̍͑͊̊̽̒͗̾̈̚͘͝͠͝͠

H̶̨̨̧̡̺̯̼̱̙̮̲̺̺̫̺̣̘̙͓̅͋̊̅̆̐̀͜ấ̴̢̛͍͇̟̪̗̝̙̭̝͚͔̬͓̩̜̪̱̮̹̝̮̙̖͉̺̥̰̞̪̪̯̣̭̊̍̀̂̎͐̈́̈́͑͑͜͜͝͠͝ͅd̶̻̮̫̖͈͇̘̟̲̦̳̪̣͔̻̤̰͉̗͚͇̳̲̑̇̀ͅe̷̡̢̡̛̛̘̘̟̠̫͕̺̣̬͚̗̼̲̘̣̭̹̱̤̳͍̝̟̋̎́̌̊̌̐͛͒͑̄̈́͛͑͂͛̓̏̇̕͝ͅs̸̨͎̙̱͈͚͎̘̯̲̖̝̯̻̖͔̣͍͕͚͚͗̉͋̇̊̄͋͛̍̑̀̓̂̾͆̿͊͐͆̋̈̔͆͋͘̚̕͜͝͠ͅ

H̵̢̩̥̦͍͈͔̟̦̗͙̜̞̮̣̣̹͉̣͚̯͎̉̒́͒͐͊͗̋͌̔͒̆̂̉̀͊̀̾̌̔̚͘͝ḁ̶͚͆̊͌̽͊̀͛̾́̀̽̔͑̓͂́̚̚͝d̴̨̪͇̬̜͇̫̩̣͉͇͉͎̺̥̍̉͋͐͐̾͆̅̀̌̈̂͊̾̂͊̓̈́̏͆̇͐͘͘͠ȩ̵̜̬̳͚̰̠̫͎̳̺̠̗̪̪̫͙̣̪̥̩̗̈̌̅̾̎̔͆̈͘̕̚s̷̛̛̺͙͕͓̞̬̙͇̪̼̣̈̆͑̄́̿́̑͆́͊͆̒̈̑̅͂̊̈́̏̏̄͒͘͠͝ͅͅ

Ḩ̶̢̧̫͍͖̳̥̰̬̯̫̲͖̌̉͆̾͛̈́͜͝͝ǎ̸̹͍̲͎͕̂̓̄̐d̴̡͔̬̙̼̝̫̥͎͕̙̀͒̈́̒̈͌̉͌̕͝ȩ̶̧͉̖̞̗͖͎̼̖̺͕̝̱̫̈́̈́͗̈́͝s̴̨͖͙͚̬͉̙̲̘̱̳̘̰̆̈͛́̽̄͐͂̽̏̏̕̚̚

H̷̛͙͖̞͘ā̷͉͙͚̈́̚͜͠d̶̨̡̠̺͎̣̉ȩ̷̝̞̠̀s̷̛̤̙̈́

H̴̰̊ä̴̱́d̷̳̚ḛ̷́s̶̤͐

Hades.

Emet-Selch lowered his hand, the color suddenly fading from his sculpted, cold face. Everything in him suddenly burned, like fire, like Light had just pierced him through his chest, his head. It had, in a sense, but he…he didn’t expect…her, not this one, not here. 

She was gone.

Sundered.

So…Why…

_Why_, when he had been _so close, _did he have to find her – when the star was set to die, when he was on course to succeed, to best them, achieve Zodiark’s wishes, Gods…_why…_

Regaining his breath, he turned to glower at the woman, taking in her wretched, pathetic state.

The Warrior or Light had fallen back into the wall, previously splattered with her own blood. He winced at the memory, suddenly guilty for having been the one to subject her that pain. She was watching him, shaking, terrified; her eyes wet, streaked with horrible, beautiful, tears. He felt wounded, seeing her like this; it was too much, too similar, how had he not noticed before? The color, the _aether…_ “You will speak nothing of this,” He whispered, low, heavy.

Emilia didn’t speak, she simply watched, her mask of heroic bravado suddenly crushed, “Not to the Scions, nor to that little soul which follows you around. My name is not one to throw around,_ hero.”_

He took a step towards her, but she gasped, backing away in horror. If this journey meant he’d needs’t take her, if it meant watching her crumble beneath his hands, dying, once more, he couldn’t stay the path.

Not again.

With a breath, he swallowed and snapped his fingers, a portal of voidal energy appearing behind him. Her eyes watched, but her lips stayed still, “I’m retiring for the night.” He bowed, backing into the swirling darkness, “Do me a favor, and get some rest, my dear.”


End file.
